


The Kindness of Strangers

by sirona



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Agent Coulson is A Good Man, Coulson Lives, Gen, Kindness, Missing Scene, POV Outsider, PTSD, Pheeeeels, Tea, discussion of the events in The Avengers, not all heroes are super, reference to slavery, spoilers for Agents of SHIELD episode 7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-16
Updated: 2013-11-16
Packaged: 2018-01-01 17:53:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1046798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirona/pseuds/sirona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I was stationed on the Helicarrier above New York. I was there when it all went down. And I just wanted to say -- I know what you did, sir. Thank you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Kindness of Strangers

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my Agents of SHIELD squeemail support group for putting this thought in my head. :D It was surprisingly emotional writing, this. :) The idea was: Phil stalks around the SHIELD compound in episode 7 like he owns the place. How come no one realises he's alive and back? And the answer is: because most SHIELD agents don't know what the amazing, legendary Agent Coulson actually looks like. :)

"Sir! Sir, excuse me, sir."

The man turns, and yes, yes, it's him, she didn't imagine it, he's....it doesn't matter what he is, he is here and she can finally--

She grips her folders closer to her chest, shy in a way she hasn't been in years, not since she had to go ask the captain of the football team to report to the principal's office. 

"Can I help you, agent--" the man says, clearly expecting her to fill in the blank he left for her.

"Francis, sir. Agent Francis."

Agent Coulson flinches. Amalia blinks, but by the time she's looking closer, it's gone, and his face is once more the serene mask she remembers from... earlier.

"I was stationed on the Helicarrier above New York," she says quietly. Agent Coulson's eyes dart around, but there's no one anywhere near them to hear, or to make assumptions they shouldn't, and she needs to get this out. She _needs_ to. "I was there when it all went down. And I just wanted to say -- I know what you did, sir. Thank you."

Agent Coulson shakes his head, but kindly.

"I didn't do much," he protests with a really rather charming self-effacing smile.

Amalia shakes her head, too, but much more vehemently. "Not true, sir. You stalled him. You got him off the carrier. You kept him busy long enough for Widow to bring Hawkeye back to us. You did what no one else could. No one else would have known what to say to him, but because you knew his brother, because you were in the right place at the right time, you gave us the chance we needed. If it hadn't been for you, New York would have fallen."

She pauses to swallow, wet her suddenly tight throat. "My sister was down there," she tells him, and she's not sure why she chooses this man to say it to when she hasn't said it to anyone else on base, before or after. "In the Lenox Hill maternity ward. I have a nephew who is alive right now, and free, not a slave like his great-great-grandmother used to be, because of you. And I realise that no one knows who you are around here, and that maybe even I wasn't supposed to know, but I do, and I can't forget. I'll never forget."

She's crying now, tears streaming down her face, ruining her make-up, and she hates it, but she can't stop. She hadn't cried like this even in the mandatory counselling sessions post-battle, but here she is, breaking down in front of a man who has seen so much more than she ever will (and thank God for that, because that meant he was the man they needed when they were on the verge of losing everything).

She wouldn't have blamed him if he excused himself and walked away. She's said what she needed to say, and there is no need for him to hang around and watch her try to stop breaking all the time, at the smallest things.

Instead, there is a gentle hand closing on her elbow, not reproachful but supporting, and he nudges her to walking, keeping step with her. She doesn't even care where they're going; to be honest, there is no man she trusts more on this planet than him. Not Nick Fury, not Tony Stark, not even Captain America. But Phil Coulson, she would have followed anywhere. 

He leads her to an empty office (so many empty offices these days, even here, far away from the Battle of New York). "Here," he says softly, handing her into a chair. She sits, puts her folders on the desk and takes a tissue out of the pocket of her suit jacket, awkwardly patting at her face, trying to get the worst of the damage. She is still crying, but less, a tear here and there -- she just can't seem to stop. 

She hears the flick of a button, and the slow bubbling of an electric kettle, the kind that a lot of agents keep in their offices for a quick cup of something hot when they had too much to do and couldn't get to the cafeteria. The noise soothes her, and she stares at her hands and takes deep breaths while the kettle boils and she hears water poured into a mug. The scent of chamomile fills the air, and not long after, the mug is placed on the desk next to her elbow. Agent Coulson sits in the visitor chair next to hers. He doesn't ask her if she's okay, because he knows she isn't. They have all been there at one time or another -- you know you can't fix it, but you can be there to offer support, the knowledge that the broken person isn't alone; to just be human next to them when everything else seems too overwhelming. Amalia has done it before, too many times to count, sometimes for people she had never met before -- and Agent Coulson must have, too, even more than she has.

She takes a sip of the tea, and it's hot and sweet with a generous helping of honey. She smiles a little at the taste, and that's when she knows she's going to be okay -- the little things still bring her joy, still make her stop for a second and appreciate them and smile.

"I didn't know how you liked it, but this is how I drink it," Agent Coulson says. There is such--such understanding in his voice that it almost sets Amalia off again.

"Thank you," she starts to say again, but he doesn't let her get it out.

"Tell me about your sister," he says instead. She looks up into his face -- a little startled, if she's honest, that he's still here. His eyes are very blue, and very kind.

"Her name is Valerie," she starts, keeping the wobble out of her voice by sheer stubbornness alone. "She's four years younger than me; she's a pharmacist, she works at a drug store over on 281 6th Avenue. She's really smart, way smarter than me, actually. Her partner is called Irene, and they'd been trying for a baby for almost five years before it finally took last year. She's mad about the Giants, you have no idea--"

Agent Coulson's phone beeps in his pocket. He scrunches his nose adorably before excusing himself and taking the call. She doesn't have to hear his next words to know that whatever weird moment out of time this was, it's over. He's a busy man; hell, he came back from dying and went diving right back into SHIELD. 

She has no idea what he's doing here, babysitting her.

"I'm sorry, Agent Francis. I have to go," he says, and he actually does sound genuinely regretful. 

"Of course," she says, nodding. She has stopped crying now, and she gives him a much more put-together smile. "Thank you again--"

Agent Coulson smiles. It's a really very lovely smile. Amalia thinks she should probably tell herself off for the way her heart thumps in her chest, but she really can't be bothered right now. They live much more bizarre lives than anyone else on the planet; it's pretty useless to get hung up on who makes your heart beat faster. 

"There is no need to thank me. You know as well as I do that we do it for them -- the people on the ground, and the people around us. I know you'll take care of your sister, Agent Francis, but don't forget to take care of yourself, too."

And then he's gone, walking calmly out of the door, down the corridors of this compound, and no one else knows that they're rubbing shoulders or bumping into the man responsible for their safety, and the safety of their loved ones. 

She follows more slowly, unashamed of her unmade face and naked eyes. It's a small price to pay for the gift she was given, of saying thank you to the person who saved your life. She doesn't give a good damn how come he's back, what he had to do, what the Director had to do to make that happen. It's sure as anything that he _is_ Agent Phil Coulson. Everything else is immaterial. 

"What happened?" Alice says when Amalia walks back into her office, following behind her and closing the door. "Ama, are you okay?"

Amalia smiles to herself, putting the folders of HR dossiers on her desk, shifting them so Agent Barton's file is fully covered. The taste of chamomile and honey still lingers in her mouth.

"Yes. I am."


End file.
